Awakened (Auralight Codex: Dakota Shepherd Book 1)

by Shei Darksbane

  I thought about the night before, the feelings I’d had when I was with her. “Does that mean she’s not safe for me to be around?”

  Ralof considered me for a moment, hesitating. “You can not trust a Vampire, Dakota. They are always looking after their own interests.”

  I nodded. “Mmhmm. But then, isn’t everyone?”

  Ralof smiled, amused. “You could say that, I suppose. But with Vampires it is more certain that they are looking to get what they want regardless of the cost to others.”

  I smirked. “So Vampires and Werewolves don’t really get along?”

  Ralof shook his head. “It’s not so much that we do not get along with them as it is that we have common sense. We know to keep our distance, and to be cautious when dealing with them.”

  “So you are saying that I shouldn’t be around her?”

  “No. Not precisely. But it would be wise for you to approach her cautiously. And…” he gave my shoulder a squeeze. “I would be more comfortable if you would promise me to be careful.”

  I looked up at him. Ralof’s eyes were a pale blue color. His expression was soft around the edges, but like iron inside. I could feel his concern. He cared about me, even already. But his will was like stone. And he was urging me to take care. Something inside of me wanted very much to avoid displeasing him. “I will.” I smiled. It felt really good to have someone caring about me.

  “Mm. Good.” Ralof turned back to the picnic table and continued his vicious assault on the poor burgers. I followed his lead, turning back to the table and focusing on my food for a while. A breeze meandered it’s way through the trees, visible before we could feel it, but it made its way to the pavilion eventually, wiping the Tennessee heat from my brow like a caring mother tending a feverish child. I closed my eyes, still chewing, and sighed. It felt good to be here. I wasn’t sure what exactly felt so good about it, but I knew that something here felt more right than I was used to.

  Ralof kept a companionable silence with me as we finished the meal. I managed my way through two burgers and all my fries, finished off the soda and decided I’d had enough for a reasonable person for one meal. Well, I’m not a reasonable person, am I? I still wasn’t sure how I felt about the idea of being a werewolf. Actually, I was even a little reluctant to accept that I wasn’t something way cooler. When Amorie had refused to tell me what she thought I was, I admit I’d had some pretty crazy fantasies about what sorts of awesome, eldritch creatures a person with green flaming hands might be. Like… the scion of some green-fire-handed deity, or a descendant of Merlin like in that one movie with Nicolas Cage. A werewolf was nowhere near the top of my list of awesome things to be. And what did it have to do with green burny hands?

  In lieu of being a reasonable person, I considered my stomach. I was not full. Not really. I could have eaten more. But neither was I hungry. I had always been a big eater. Maybe that made more sense if I really was a werewolf. Maybe I was just being accidentally racist again. Then again… My eyes drifted back over to the mass grave of burger wrappers Ralof’s meal had left behind. He must have caught me eying the massacre because he smiled at me with no small amount of humor and clapped me on the back. “Still hungry?”

  “Can’t decide. I feel like I already have a lot to chew over.”

  He nodded. “We can always take it with us.”

  I nodded absently, still somewhat lost in my own thoughts, but the statement caught up to me a few seconds later and I glanced up at him curiously. “Wait, what? Where are we going?”

  Ralof picked up the paper sack and started piling the remaining food back into it, arranging it so the bag would still stand on its own. “Would you like to come back with me and see the Pack house?”

  “The Pack house? The Pack has a house?”

  “Well technically, I have a house. But it is also the headquarters more or less where Pack business is conducted. And several other wolves live there as well. So ‘Pack house’ is perhaps a more fitting description.” He rolled the paper sack down and left it standing on the table.

  I considered his offer for a moment. As I did, he started gathering up the remaining trash on the table. I started helping him automatically, focusing more on my thoughts, and half-tripped as I stood to take my half of the papers to the trash can. I stumbled, losing my balance spectacularly and for an instant, I was on my way to the hard, concrete floor of the pavilion when my downward momentum stopped against one of Ralof’s strong, sturdy arms. Still clutching a handful of trash in each hand, he’d managed to react and steady me with one arm. “Woah… You all right?”

  I felt like an idiot. “Yeah… Thanks.” He hmph’d at me in return, going about his business as soon as I was obviously steady on my feet. I stood there for a moment examining my feelings, and the question at hand. Was it safe to go back to the Pack house with him? I felt incredibly safe around him. I felt safer with him than I had this morning before I left home. Amorie had sent me to him. She hadn’t made any warnings or even suggested I meet him in public as per my typical standards. And when he’d caught me just now, I hadn’t felt remotely threatened like I would with most men if they grabbed me suddenly, saving me from my own clumsiness or not. Ralof’s arm hadn’t felt threatening to me. Only comforting and natural like it belonged there, in a totally platonic way that I was struggling to fully comprehend. Amorie had said that it was Ralof’s job to take care of my kind, and it felt like he took his job pretty seriously. I suddenly felt guilty for being a clumsy, fledgling runt. “Sorry.” I muttered softly, more to myself than anything.

  “Nothing to be sorry about.” He responded from across the pavilion. I hadn’t expected him to hear me. I should have figured that werewolves have better-than-average hearing. All the movies agreed with that one. Rather than focusing on the minor incident, I decided it would be better to try to move past it. I took the trash in my hands to the can and deposited it, returning to face Ralof at the picnic table.

  “How far is it?”

  “Not too far. It’s in the lower part of the mountains near Gatlinburg.” He picked up the sodas and the bag of leftover burgers.

  “Nice. So, can I ride with you? I don’t have a car.” And the cab would take a while to get all the way out here.

  Ralof nodded, a jovial expression on his face. “Of course. Come.” He turned and walked away from the pavilion toward a visible parking lot opposite the side I’d come in on. I followed him automatically and we walked the intervening green field without further comment. Ralof approached a sable, king-cabbed 4x4 Dodge Ram with a cooler in the bed below the little sliding windows in the back. He dropped the six pack into the cooler which was half-full of ice, and had a few bottles of water floating around in it as well. He opened the truck with a keypad he’d fished out of his pocket, tossed the burgers onto the seat and turned to face me. “There’s just one more thing we need to take care of before we go.”

  I cocked my head in query. Ralof turned to face me directly and put a hand on my shoulder, lowering his eyes to meet mine. I stared back at him, unsure of his intentions, but unafraid. I wasn’t sure what was happening at first, but then that deep-down part of me reacted, and I could feel the draw of something behind Ralof’s eyes, calling to me. I peered back at him and felt an invisible struggle beginning. He was the Alpha. He was the strongest. He was the most dominant wolf. Of this, there was no question. And that is why it surprised me when I felt that deep-down part pushing back. I felt the wolf, somewhere deep inside, pushing and fighting back against the growing pressure of Ralof’s mighty gaze. She pushed and fought, building a pressure and tension between us that tightened for a long moment that stretched out until I was afraid that something was going to snap inside of me, when suddenly she gave in. The wolf dropped back and I reflexively dropped my eyes. “Good.” Ralof said quietly, and to my surprise, rather kindly. He squeezed my shoulder once, then turned and got into the car.

  I stood for a few seconds trying to work through the feelings inside. What had
just happened? I wasn’t sure. But I was sure of one other thing; My Alpha was in the truck, waiting for me. So I walked around to the passenger side and climbed up into the king-sized Ram and closed the door.

  9

  The Pack House

  I watched the trees dashing past my window as Ralof took the curvy mountain roads with the ease of long practice. I didn’t get out to the mountains that often, even though they were only about an hour away from my apartment. The forest out here was lovely. Why don’t I get out more? I sighed wistfully. Because you’re a geeky hermit and you prefer to get your nature from a screen. My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of gravel crunching under the Ram’s tires. I glanced up as we pulled into one of many parking spots in front of a lovely, two-story cabin in the glorious mountain woods.

  The cabin was of modern construction but with log-cabin-styled siding. The siding was real wood in a rich, chestnut-brown color that might have told a smarter person what sort of material it was made from. The roof, shutters, and banisters were a gorgeous, hunter green which accented the richness of the cabin’s natural wood colors. The supports and chimney were made of natural stone in various grays and browns, and I could even see a little red here and there. The front of the house had an elaborate, heavy door with an intricate pattern engraved around the edges, with two simple, rectangular bay windows standing guard to either side.

  The cabin sat on an uneven piece of ground, as was common in the mountains here, with the back portion of the house being held up by tall stone pillars of the same natural rock as the rest. A balcony porch wrapped around the second level, running down one side, and seeming to continue around to the back. The balcony created a broad deck on the side facing left of the driveway, and a happy little wooden bench swing hung in it’s shade. The flower beds were lined with the same natural rock as the house, and ran the length of the side opposite the balcony. One golden currant bush was taking over the middle of the bed, whereas the rest seemed to be planted with thick, overflowing herbs, a few tomato and pepper plants, and a couple of flowers I didn’t recognize.

  Ralof parked the truck. “Here we are.” He reached for the door, but paused. “There are a couple of things I should go over before we go inside.” He rolled down the windows and turned off the ignition.

  “All righty. I’m listening.” I figured that any advice he had was worth hearing before literally walking into the wolf’s den.

  Ralof settled back in the seat and shifted to face me better. “What happened before we got into the truck earlier was important. Do you understand what passed between us?”

  I thought about that for a few seconds before shaking my head. “Not really.”

  “It is something that must happen between all wolves at some point. It is the establishment of dominance.” He held my gaze firmly.

  “Meaning you’re in charge. I get that.”

  Ralof nodded barely. “Yes, but there is more to it than that. The wolf in you recognizes the wolf in me—”

  “Wolf-maste?” I grinned cheesily. Ralof didn’t get it. He furrowed his brow with confusion until I shook my hand, waving the horrible joke aside like a bad smell.

  Ralof continued. “Your wolf understands that my wolf is more dominant. So she has acquiesced to me. She has accepted that she is below me in the pack hierarchy. Which means more than who is in charge.”

  I nodded slowly. “What else does it mean?”

  “It means that you are mine to care for. Mine to protect. That I am responsible for your well-being. Such is as it is with every wolf in my pack.” His love for the pack radiated from his form in a palpable manner. I felt warm and cozy. “But for you, it will be different with each wolf. You will meet some who are more dominant than you, and so it will go with them as it did with me. You will feel a battle rising inside, and the two of you will fight for dominance, until your wolf gives in. You will also meet some who are less dominant. Those wolves will give into you, and you will feel a different sort of bond forming. You will feel responsible for them. They will be yours to protect, just as they are mine to protect.”

  I mulled that over. “So it’s an emotional thing? We just connect and decide and that’s it?”

  Ralof shook his head. “Sometimes this is as it was with me: occurring entirely inside of us. Sometimes, especially when two wolves are very dominant, they will fight in a more physical manner to determine who is more dominant between them. It can get rather violent - even dangerous - though we try to keep it from going too far when we can help it.”

  I shivered at the thought of fighting a werewolf. “So I’m basically going to have to go through this with every wolf I meet? How many are there?”

  Ralof’s mouth quirked up into an amused smile. “Not too many. Just sixty or so.” My eyes grew very wide. Ralof laughed at me. “But don’t worry, Dakota. It’s not like in the old country. You won’t have to fight them all in one day.”

  “Not so comforting.” I squeaked, exaggerating a rasp.

  Ralof laughed again. “There are only seven or eight wolves at the house right now, myself included. And you won’t meet the rest all at once. Remember, our pack spans a large area. It will take you some time to meet them all.”

  I grinned an obviously fake grin. “Right. Just seven or eight. I can handle that.”

  Ralof shook his head, chuckling. “You won’t have to fight them, Dakota. It will be all right. I doubt that will come up so easily. It is more common that you will feel each other out and it will be obvious where you stand. And that is the point of this. It is very important that each wolf knows where they stand with everyone else.”

  “Why?” I asked honestly.

  “Because, the pack runs together, hunts together, and sometimes, fights together. We defend ourselves, our territory, and one another from any that would hurt us. And if you are running with the pack, you must know how to react if someone gives you an order. You must know exactly how to respond to each of your pack mates. You must know who will rely on you in turn. And it must all be instinctual. Which is why this battle occurs: so that your wolf will always know where she stands with everyone else.”

  I nodded slowly. “That makes sense.” I chewed at my lower lip.

  Ralof patted me lightly on the shoulder. “It is not so bad. But I wanted to warn you that since this is your first time visiting the pack house, and since you are new, you may want to avoid eye-contact with most of the wolves you will meet. If you meet their eyes, you may be forced to decide dominance right away. I don’t want you to be overwhelmed.”

  I looked up at him. “So it’s meeting the eyes that does it?”

  Ralof nodded, then looked thoughtful. “It is one trigger. There are other things that can bring it about. Being overly aggressive, getting too close to something or someone they are protecting, or for some, just being in their territory. Though there are none so touchy here today.” He glanced at the door to the cabin. “At least, not that I know of.”

  I laughed humorlessly. “Heh… Great. Well, let’s go see how well they keep you informed, eh?”

  Ralof flashed me wolfish grin before opening the door. He got out and beckoned me to follow. I grabbed the bag of food and slipped down from the high seat of the truck, closing the door behind me. Ralof opened the front door and walked in, dipping his head just a little as he passed the threshold. He really was tall. I was used to people feeling tall to me, but seeing him in opposition to a normal door brought the point home that it wasn’t just me this time. I followed Ralof into the house, glancing around at the entryway as he moved further inside. I closed the door behind me and paused to stare at my immediate surroundings.

  The entryway held a motley row of coats ranging from very large to rather small, in a variety of styles and colors. Beneath the coats were various shoes, mostly neatly lined against the wall, and a basket containing a few fold-down umbrellas and a couple of solid Maglites.

  I turned my eyes next to the living room which the entryway led into. It was a huge
room with high ceilings, maybe 30 feet tall. The stairs on either side of the room led up to a sort of crosswalk, on which a couple of doors were visible. The crosswalk led into hallways on either end, passing on into what must have been the rest of the second story. The room below was cozy despite its size. The vast hardwood floor was covered in the center by a thick, floofy white rug. A giant sectional sofa wrapped around the rug in front of the fireplace. At the adjoining corner, a big screen TV was hung so as to be visible from the entire room. Below it, a cabinet held other electronics, such as a DVD player and a collection of movies.

  The far wall of the cabin was dominated by glass. The windows ran from floor to ceiling, though they were broken up by metal frames, and a large, sliding glass door graced the center. From there, I could see that the backyard held a fire pit with a circle of wooden benches surrounding it, and beyond that, there was a broad, neatly trimmed lawn that sloped steadily downward until the grass disappeared into the treeline where the yard met the forest.

  But the thing that caught and held my attention was a cork board on the wall just before the leftmost staircase. The cork board was large and covered in a cloud of pushpins. No papers, or pictures. Just pins. I started to examine the curious board closer when Ralof startled me out of my boots with a boisterous cry, “Elisa! Get out here, woman! We have a guest!”

  A woman’s voice responded from an entryway to one side of the expansive living room. “Has our guest no legs, that she can not come in here to me?” Elisa emerged from the kitchen, all the same, wiping her hands on the end of a well-loved apron and extending her arms immediately to the man who towered over her, despite her being a taller than average woman.

  Elisa was not what most people would consider a beauty. She was too tall for a woman, about six feet, I was sure. Her shoulders were broad, and her arms looked strong. Her whole frame was broader and thicker than most women I’d seen. She had long, pale blond hair braided and looped around her head, accenting a face that must have been more attractive before acquiring a number of disfiguring scars, including one long, jagged ravine that ran the length of her face, and another that had taken a small piece from her ear. One arm had a patch of shiny skin with a crinkling center, and she was missing the tip of one finger on the opposite hand.